


Of blue lights

by na_shao



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/na_shao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Be still,” Bond murmurs, and there are hands and lips on Q’s skin, and he has missed this so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of blue lights

“Be still,” Bond murmurs, and there are hands and lips on Q’s skin, and he has missed this so much—James, the bluest eyes he has ever seen, _him_ – and he lets his fingers run over the familiar scar that is slashed across James’ back, that long, white jagged line that eats its way up a large expanse of pale skin. Q notices the bruises –big, black, blue, sometimes turning to an ugly shade of lipstick red or greenish yellow—but never says anything for he prefers kissing them away, and James sighs and his calloused fingers curl up around the back of Q’s neck, softly, slowly, ever so slowly. 

There’s a bit of pink, swollen flesh over James’ right eyebrow, nothing bad; Q brushes a hand over the damaged skin but James stops him, lips over his. 

“It’s ugly. Don’t look,” he manages to mumble before his tongue licks inside the younger man’s mouth. A faint ray of sunlight streams through the curtains and Q lets himself be absorbed by that huge amount of warmth he has lacked of and missed through the weeks. 

They kiss and smile at each other for a little while, just enjoying each other’s presence; but Q is stubborn and his eyes set on James’ bruise again. He traces it slowly with his finger, rubbing little circles around it before sitting up a little straighter in order to press his lips against the reddened slash. Bond cringes a little, closing his eyes, and when they open again, Q can see oceans and the purest shade of blue he has ever seen in his whole life, this crystal kind of colour, startlingly pale and calm, and he knows, deep down, that he could never, _ever_ live without them—his stomach can’t take it, and it feels like being punched or swallowing crushed ice; this burning, crimson feeling he cannot wrap his head around.

James ends up smiling, moving besides Q and breathing in his neck, kisses burning along his spine as Bond goes down, and it’s perfect, and right, and all they’ve ever needed and wanted.


End file.
